


.agoraphobia.

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: AU, Agoraphobia, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, M/M, OCD, School, Separation Anxiety, basically my feelings dump on these poor babies, i've written most of it but ill post chapters of it every so often, if you get trigger by anxiety attacks this is not for you, patrick is so sad, pete is doing his best, pete is just, sorry - Freeform, they start off in middle school but itll jump foward, this is so sad god help me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-07 22:29:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4280298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t think I’m going to come back to school.” Patrick said lowly, not really to anybody but himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The panic attacks started when he was thirteen. Patrick remembers his first like it was yesterday, even though it was about a decade ago. It was the day him and his mom went school clothes shopping for his first day of seventh grade at a brand new school. He was nervous, rightly so, he was shy normally anyways and now he didn’t have any friends to walk him through a new grade with new teachers. The fear of embarrassment was always at the back of his neck, prickling its electric, painful fingers making his neck hot.

It began as a relatively easy day for him, sleeping till noon, sitting down late for breakfast while his family had already eaten. Cold bacon, eggs and three chilly pancakes were laid out for him. He plowed through them.

“God, take some time to breathe, will you?” His mom said playfully, ruffling his hair.

“ Doesn’t matter anyways, now that I’m done.” Patrick said hopping off his stool and rinsing his dish.

“You just eat so fast, it’s not healthy.”

“Eh. I didn’t want it to get too cold.” Patrick said. “You guys could’ve waited for me to come down for food, you know.”

“We’ve got stuff to do today. Why did you sleep anyways? You didn’t stay up late, did you?” His mom said suspiciously. They were told to not stay up past eleven last night, and Patrick was in bed by eleven, but he couldn’t fall asleep. What were things going to be like at this school?

“I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Nervous about school?” She eyed him suspiciously. Patrick shrugged her off. He always felt a little nervous before school, this was going to pass in a couple of days.

The mall wasn’t near their house, about thirty minutes away, and it was close to the school. Patrick could walk to his old school, and riding the bus was going to be a new thing. They drove past the school on the way there, and it was pretty big and different than anything else. A couple kids sat outside in the parking lot with skateboards and some were smoking. “People do that in seventh grade?” Patrick asked his mother.

She laughed and shook her head. “Those are probably high schoolers.”

They went into a couple shops, not really finding anything. He really didn’t care, and wished his mom would just find his size and find the stuff for him. They finally found most of his stuff in Kohl’s, and they were waiting in line when he saw her, a pretty girl of about sixteen working the counter, smiling and laughing with a customer. She had a cute smile and a short pixie cut. He imagined going up to the counter (which was going to happen within the next minute or so) and then saw himself acting like an idiot to her. The fear started to prickle up his neck.

There was a woman behind him, almost too close too him and she was talking loudly on her phone, droplet of spit hitting the back of Patrick's neck, two of her wild children were hanging off the partitions and banging on it, screaming and giggling. His mother was next to him, holding onto his arm, and her other hand was tapping a set of three onto the metal partition. 

The girl at the register waved him forward with a smile, and Patrick couldn't breathe. Air wouldn't go in. He started to panic, and his knees buckled. He had a deathgrip on the metal partition, holding him up.

To put it shortly, Patrick felt like he was dying.

“We need to go, mom. Like now, like, please now,”  He pleaded louder than he meant, people turning around to stare at him. _They are all looking at me, I look like an idiot, **she** is probably looking at me._  His breathe got shallower and, god, he was probably redder than a fire engine. 

“What’s wrong?” His mom said, picking up the bags and walking towards the exit. Patrick willed his legs to move.

Things went quickly downhill from there. He finally got in the car, weak and paler than usual and then played twenty questions with his mom.

“Are you okay?” His mom asked.

“I think so, now.” Patrick's palms were clammy and his stomach was in knots, but these were easy things, he could breathe. This mattered. . He could ignore the other things for tonight. They would be gone tomorrow. 

“How long have you felt anxious?”

These questions weren’t helping. Deep in Patrick’s stomach, there was worry that he would answer wrong, that his mom would be mad at him, they didn’t even get clothes at the store after Patrick had to be rushed out. He ruined their day out. Instead of answering, he silently picked at his nails. He went down the row, _one, two, three, four, five,_ picking at each finger then restarting. His mother did not appreciate the silence. He should have worried about this.

“Answer me, please, Patrick?” His mom asked.

Patrick looked away.

“I kinda just want to sleep.”

She nodded. “You know, this runs in the family. It’s gonna be something you just have to deal with. Teenagers in our family go through it, and it just makes us stronger. You’ll see.” She sighs. "Your brother didn't. Been hoping you wouldn't either. Try to keep it on the down low." 

Patrick didn’t really care if anybody else went through it, he was going through it right now and needed help, please. He nodded his head and his mom smiled.

His mom eventually went out and bought the same clothes that he had wanted at the store plus a couple other things for him. When school rolled around, he did not wear any of the clothes that came from the store.

 


	2. Chapter 2

****

They say the first days are the worst. Patrick sat down in his first class, with a teacher he never met and students who he has never seen, and started to pick his nails down the line. _One, two, three, four, five_.

Patrick examined the class room. One girl was picking all the fuzz off her bright brand new pink pen, and sticking the fuzz in the hood of the boy in front of her. The boy in front of her was asleep on the first day of school. That meant he was either really cool or really weird and somebody you should absolutely not hang out with. The boy to his right was reorganizing his pencil case, all filled with brand new pencils sharpened to perfection. Patrick glanced down at his own, and realized they were unsharpened. He did not want to go up to sharpen them now, to he took out a pen, and resolved to sharpen his when he got home.

A boy sat behind him and poked him in the back with his pencil. Patrick turned swiftly around to face a short guy with choppy hair and a huge grin on his face.

“You’re new?” The kid asked. He was wearing a Metallica shirt that was just a bit too big for him and had five red rubber bands on his wrist.

“Sure. Are you?”

“Sure.” The boy said, then stuck his hand out. “Wentz.”

“That’s a funny first name.” Patrick said, then realized that he was meant to shake Wentz’s hand. He turned hot in the face and shook the boy’s hand just a little too hard. Patrick was positive his hand was sweaty and gross but Wentz didn't seem to care. 

“It’s cute when you blush.” Wentz said. “And it’s not my first name though. My first name is Pete..” He said, Patrick felt his throat dry up but he plastered a smile on his face. “I’m sure everybody has asked you what school you came from by now..”

Patrick managed to say. “Nobody has spoken to me yet.” It was true, he managed to sneak past the crowds of kids, all grouped together with friends down the hallway and he walked straight past them, hat pulled over his eyes and white knuckling his books. He was walking faster than the other kids, and was checking his school map over and over again, even though he was going the right way. But Patrick would never be able to live it down if he was late to a class full of strangers that didn't know him. 

“That’s a damn shame.” Pete mumbled under his breath, glancing up to see if a teacher was around. When he decided the coast was clear, he looked at Patrick and asked what school he was from.

*

 

Patrick made it through the day, answering Pete’s questions, and counting his fingers one by one. Pete asked if he could hang out after school with him Friday, spend the night and get some pizza and play video games. Patrick said yes, just to make Pete grin and Pete leaves in a rush. 

The boys hang out the rest of the week, and they make a pair. Pete has other friends at this school, and sometimes at lunch they come and join, but Andy is busy with Student Council at lunch, Brendon has jazz band meetings and Travie helps out in the office for candy. SO normally it's just them. 

Everyday, Pete walks Patrick back to his bus stop and tells him a big story, about how his brother jumped off a roof once, and how he totally broke his leg. Pete's parent's pick him up, so he doesn't have to ride the bus. Patrick wished his mom did that for him. 

The bus is hell. This bus just has middle schoolers and high schoolers on it, and there are normally three to a seat.Patrick has sat in the one seat nobody wants to sit in for the entire first week, the seat right behind the bus driver and right next tothe trash can. Patrick carefully picks up carelessly discarded cans and wrappers so they don't stick to his backpack, and he sees Brendon get on sometimes but Brendon really doesn't look at him. Maybe Brendon only really cares when Pete is around.  

When Friday rolls around to it though, Patrick is worried. Counting down doesn’t even help, he doesn’t want to screw up his only acquaintance and maybe he shouldn’t go. Patrick decides to feign sickness and cancel on Pete. He sends one text **“I am barfing so bad, next fri instead?”**

 

 Pete texts him back promptly. **Sure okay, more pizza 4 me:):)::)**

 

****  
****Patrick is relieved at first, that Pete isn’t really mad at him but then he starts thinking that maybe Pete didn’t even want to hang out with him. Maybe Pete actually hoped that Patrick would cancel. Pete really didn’t care, and why would he? They didn’t even know each other?

Patrick knows that this whole idea is dramatic and stupid, so dumb but he can’t help but feel it. He sits up all night night trying to find something to do, and when he couldn’t he would flip open his phone and read the messages. He went to bed that night with his stomach in knots. **  
**


	3. Chapter 3

Monday at lunch, and Pete wonders aloud why Patrick always tears up his peanut butter sandwich before eating it.

“It’s because I eat too fast.”

“Yeah, I do that too. My mom says I can swallow an entire plate of food before you can set it down.” Pete says and Patrick laughs. Pete is a violent eater.

“If your eating habits were made into a movie, it would be rated R for real. Just for gore and horror.” Patrick says, tearing his crust into two and jabbing Pete with one of them. “Frankenpete!”

“All the good horror movie references you could have made and you go for Frankenpete? Lame.” Pete says finishing off his second serving of gross cafeteria pizza. “Like “Night Of The Living Pete” would have been way cooler.”

“Where you are the zombies and the pizza is the people?” Patrick asked. Pete nodded and shoved a mouthful of fries in his mouth.

“Do you want some?” Pete asked, offering three fries to Patrick. Patrick tears them into three bits each and eats them. 

“Wait, I don’t even think Night Of The Living Dead is even rated “R” though.” Pete said, then thought about it some more. “What about… Peteltergiest?” Now that’s the dumbest thing Patrick has ever heard and he starts laughing so hard, he almost knocked over his milk.

“That doesn’t even have to do with eating, idiot.” Patrick says and it makes Pete laugh harder.

“I was thinking about horror flicks, not spicy “R” rated movies. Plus- the best movie for this is “Jaws” and I can’t think of any puns for that!”

*

"Guess what, Patrick? I love pizza. At my old school, we had bitchin' pizza." Pete said, scanning the room for any teacher that might have heard him swear. It's the first time Pete had mentioned his old school, Patrick hadn't even thought to ask him, he was too busy answering questions about his old school. 

"What school did you go to?" Patrick asked. 

"City schools. They are rough." 

Patrick thought about how people always talked about city schools, and for good reason too, the kids that came from there are rough around the edges, and Pete is too. 

"Why'd you leave?" 

"Because it was shitty." Pete said and Patrick knew he was done talking about it. Pete snapped one of his red rubber bands and scowled. 

"Well, it's shitty here, I guess." 

"Dude, all schools are shitty. It doesn't matter whether they are here or hundred miles away or a thousand miles away. But city schools were just a tad more shitty. "

Patrick just nudged Pete's shoe with his shoe and Pete turned right side around in his seat. 

_Did I  piss him off? Is he okay with me?_

 

 


End file.
